诗人曰：女人是一面镜子

海外文苑

<h5 align="center">美国纽约【综合新闻】829期作品选<div>主编：佩英</div><div>总编：程朗</div><div>总顾问：马华胜</div></h5> 汉译：佩英（Chinese translated by Christine Chen ） <h5>芭芭拉·波加奇尼克（Barbara Pogačnik）斯洛文尼亚诗人、译者、文学评论家及文学推广人，是其一代诗人中最受翻译界关注的声音之一。她已出版四本诗集。她也撰写短篇小说、文学评论和随笔，其作品被翻译成34种语言传播，她参加了全球80多个文学节。她翻译的作家超过200位。她现任斯洛文尼亚作者协会——集体版权管理组织（ZAMP）总监。</h5> 沉没的葡萄——引马拉美《爱伦·坡之墓》：“他们，如同九头蛇一次卑贱的抽搐……” 世界在满载的托盘上摇晃无力购桌的人如熟透的葡萄般滑落明天就太迟了想看清这场纸上战争究竟，端来了哪道前菜我们的舌，细长如蛇人畜无害地游走于掌心之间烘烤与否，四面翻覆穿透破碎的面包。你诧异于那沉没的船长--早已越过饥饿却依然在黑暗中低声发令 <h5><div>SUBMERGED GRAPE</div><div> </div>Eux, comme un vil sursaut d`hydre... Mallarmé, Le Tombeau d`Edgar Poe</h5><h5> The world is swaying on a laden platter and whoever can't afford to buy a table, slides off like over ripe wine grapes. Tomorrow it'll be too late to see which starter the paper war has brought us to. Our tongue is long, an unending, harmless snake winding between our hands, roasted or unroasted from every side, piercing its way through broken breads & you are surprised at how way beyond hunger the sunken captain ushers his commands. (Translated by Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts)</h5> 全息图 穹顶在我们小舟之上层层旋转我们的指尖触到天边的浮雕与深渊此刻，另一重苍穹在阳光下蜕变剥落旧皮肤，仿佛无声的启示一只手掌，静静搁在海的呼吸之上亲吻中，一颗头颅徐徐绽放如同一朵未知的花花萼深处，谎言的花粉漂浮着在一圈又一圈新的绝望边界上描摹、沉积那是天幕新生的脉络 <h5><div>Hologram</div><div> </div>The vaults above our boats have many layers. We touch the depth and the relief of sky’s border. Now other heavenly vaults shed their skins under the sun. Calmly a palm rests at the sea’s edge. While kissing, a head opens like a flower and in its calyx, lies’ pollen outlines against new desperate borders of vaults. (Translated by Carolyn Dille)</h5> 六月之线 这不仅是哭泣 不似达洛维夫人手中颤抖的花朵 而是泪水归源 仿佛沿着细微的根脉 逆溯，攀升至一棵巨树的脊骨， 一段旅程，照亮液体的本质—— 它们如何与我们梦中呼吸的空气 共生，缠绕 这一切 都是在时光中摸索着的 寻找抓手处的信号； 是他人，在此刻所说的话语 在晨光灰白的胡须之间 夜与曙光的缝隙里回响 而他们，如剧院角落里的老鼠 彼此依偎，为生命喝彩 而你 那个徘徊、内观的自我 与那个愿与身旁之人分享的自我之间 仿佛一枚茧的意涵，缠绕着彼此 两个身体的温度与语言 梦中 思想的汁液依然缓缓流动 <h5><div>JUNE THREAD</div><div> </div>And not just the weeping, as with Mrs. Dalloway's trembling flowers, but it is about the tears returning to their source, as if travelling through tiny root veins up the backbone of a great tree, a journey enlightening us about the nature of liquids, their symbiosis with the air we breathe in sleep – all of these are signs of feeling for handholds through time, of words others speak at such times into morning’s grey beard of light, between night and dawn, while like theatre mice they were hugging and cheering for life, and you find yourself between an inward looking self and another that you share with the one next to you in a cocoon of meanings between two bodies through which, even while dreaming, the sap of all thoughts moves. </h5> 当寂静拒绝开口 露水，露水，穿过矛形叶片敲打我们，覆满全身草叶在门槛上迟疑一双双眼波流成细流，坠入露水之中可露水从不在我们喉咙中作响也不在池底淤泥中回声要如何卸下冻土的铠甲？要如何排空压在露水上的沉沉之夜？夜里，棍枝、矛尖、鱼钩--尽数卡在去路之中而露水，无手露水，露水消失了像一只初生的小鸟夜里悄然栖落只为守望那些灯火活着的模样 <h5><div>When the Silence Won’t Speak</div><div> </div>The dew, the dew, the spear-shaped leaves through which the dew beats and covers us, the delay of the grass blades on the threshold and the stream of eyes, spilling into dew. How the dew’s not heard in our throats or in the pond silt. How can we lighten the armor of the frozen ground. How can we drain the heavy night that oppresses the dew. The night in which sticks, spear points, fishhooks are wedged obstructing the way, for the dew has no hands. The dew, the dew disappears like a newborn bird, as if it settled in the night to watch the lights live before descending into the valley. (Translated by Barbara Siegel Carlson)</h5> <h5></h5><h5>诗歌赏析：</h5><h5>斯洛文尼亚诗人芭芭拉·波加奇尼克（Barbara Pogačnik）四首诗歌在语言密度、内在哲思与情感质地上，共构出一个具有现代意识流与自然：身体隐喻交织的诗性宇宙。四首诗共同指向一个核心议题：语言如何在感知与沉默之间踉跄前行。《沉没的葡萄》是语言与世界断裂的觉知，象征“降临”与“沉落”；《全息图》是意识结构的扫描，体现人如何“在多重天幕下存在”；《六月之线》是情感与身体的共享状态，是“意义之茧”的缠绕；《当寂静拒绝开口》——是对终极沉默的凝视，是诗人对“语言失效”进行的最后祈祷。其诗没有现实里的战争、流血或任何大事件，诗人以“自然物”为镜，回照“人的意识边界”，是极少数能在语言失效处“继续说话”的诗歌。诗以液体般的情感渗透，温柔、坚定，在沉默中盛开、流动、消失。（佩英）</h5><h5>Editorials:</h5><div><h5>The four poems by Slovenian poet Barbara Pogačnik weave a poetic universe of modern stream-of-consciousness and natural–bodily metaphors, marked by linguistic density, inner philosophical reflection, and emotional texture. Together, they point to a central theme: how language staggers forward between perception and silence. “The Submerged Grapes”reveals an awareness of the rupture between language and the world, symbolizing both “descent” and “arrival.” “Hologram”scans the structures of consciousness, showing how one exists “under multiple skies.” “JUNE THREAD”explores the shared state of emotion and body, entangled in a “cocoon of meaning.” “When the Silence Won’t Speak” is a gaze into ultimate stillness, a final prayer confronting the breakdown of language. Her poetry is devoid of real-world wars, bloodshed, or grand events. Instead, the poet uses elements of nature as mirrors to reflect the boundaries of human consciousness. She is among the poets who can “continue speaking” at the very point where language fails. Her poems seep like liquid emotion—gentle yet firm—blooming, flowing, and dissolving within silence.(By Christine Chen)</h5></div> <h5>艾哈迈德·阿莫尔·扎阿巴尔（Ahmed Amor Zaabar），突尼斯诗人、作家及媒体专家，现居伦敦。他曾担任英国阿拉伯文化论坛文化委员会主席，以及英国阿拉伯俱乐部媒体委员会主席，已出版三部诗集，其诗歌已被翻译成多种语言传播，作品涵盖诗歌、短篇小说、评论文章与散文。</h5> 我在水的裂隙中，看见自己 我走出去，去寻找……想在雨中觅得一首诗却满身湿透而归带着那些语言也拭不去的哀愁下水道流着血街道上，散落孩子的残肢他们就这样书写生命的篇章那个孩子--赤裸、赤足--在废墟边寻找一片面包归来时浑身是血饥肠辘辘手中空空如也心中埋着一座墓头上嵌着一颗子弹只因他腹中的饥饿激怒了一名狙击手⋯⋯他们开枪，播撒死亡向希望向欢乐向诗与民谣向孩童的笑声向历史--他们开枪，播撒死亡向爱因为他们要建造“神的国”⋯⋯我看见我自己，也看不清在水的裂隙中支离破碎我的词语断裂崩塌我唯一的过错是梦见了生命--而我是个也门男孩他们的灵魂幽暗点燃你的，是烈火可我却看见你如凤凰自灰烬中飞升我所追问的是：他们体内的人性何时苏醒？何时苏醒？ <h5>I See Me in the Rapture of Water I go out, I seek… I look for a poem in the rain Only to come back soaked With sorrows that no words can dry. There is blood in the sewers, The remains of children’s bodies in the streets This is how They write the texts of life. That child, who was - Barefoot and naked - Looking for a piece of bread near the rubbles Has returned, covered in blood Hunger in his stomach Emptiness in his hand A grave in his heart… And a bullet in his head For the hunger of that child has incensed the sniper. …………………… They shoot bullets/death At hope, Joy, Poetry and folk songs, The smile of children, History They shoot bullets/death At love So that they build God’s realm. ………………………. I see me, and I don’t, in the rupture of water. Fragmented, My words are broken I have no fault but the dream of life, And that I am a Yemeni boy. For their souls are dark They light you up with fires But I see you as a phoenix Rises from the ashes of fire Yet it is the humanity in them I am wondering about When will it wake up? When will it wake up?</h5> 一点点爱，已足够 一点点爱--已足够 让我们知晓，心能被点燃 燃成火光 只要我们敢于渴望 而忧伤-- 只是竖琴上轻轻拨出的旋律 一缕寂静中的渴望 悄然打破沉默 绷紧静谧的心弦 直到它开始歌唱 <h5><div>A little love is enough</div><div> </div>A little love is enough To know that hearts can blaze Whenever we desire, And that sorrow Is but a melody on the lyre, A whispered yearning to shatter monotony, And draw the strings taut.</h5> 女人是一面镜子 女人是一面镜子世界在她眼中倒映着自我，在她心中回响着她--一半诞自无形的神秘一半是唤醒生命的呼吸她不是祖传的遗物不是传统的碎片不是权力、恐惧与失败的附属品她不是一桌盛宴--供病弱的肉身觊觎供迷失的灵魂吞噬供傲慢的历史践踏未来她是予存在以灵魂的本源 <h5>A Woman is a Mirror A Woman is a Mirror, The world reflects within her, And the self finds its echo. Woman: half born of the mystique of the unseen, And half the breath that animates life. She is not an heirloom, Nor a fragment of tradition, Like power, fear, and defeat. Nor a feast For the body oppressed and ailing, For the soul led astray by malice, For history that scorns what is to come. She is___ What grants existence the essence of life.</h5> <h5>诗歌赏析：<div>突尼斯诗人艾哈迈德·阿莫尔·扎阿巴尔（Ahmed Amor Zaabar）三首诗风格各异，却共同展现出诗人对生命、人性与情感的深刻洞察，具有现代抒情诗的思想力度与语言美感。《一点点爱，已足够》如一枚精巧的玻璃珠，折射出人类情感的柔光与深意，短小却耐读；《我在水的裂隙中，看见自己》具有反战诗经典的结构与精神传承，兼具个体叙述与群体痛感，是一种对人性沉睡的叩问，也是一曲为弱者发声的哀歌与呐喊；《女人是一面镜子》是一首具有尊严感与宣言意味的女性颂诗，脱离怜悯和赞美的窠臼，代之以存在论的深度表达。诗人情感细腻，既有对爱的温柔颂扬，也有对苦难的控诉和对女性身份的哲思宣言，展现出丰富而多元的人性光辉。语言凝练而富有张力，唤起读者对生命、希望与尊严的共鸣。（佩英）</div><div>Editorials：</div><div>The three poems by Tunisian poet Ahmed Amor Zaabar, though diverse in style, collectively reveal the poet’s profound insight into life, humanity, and emotion. They embody the intellectual depth and aesthetic beauty of modern lyrical poetry. <h5>A Little Love Is Enough resembles a finely crafted glass bead, refracting the gentle glow and deep significance of human emotion—short in length, yet rich in meaning and re-readability. I See Me in the Rapture of Water carries the structural clarity and spiritual legacy of classic anti-war poetry. It blends personal narrative with collective suffering, serving as both a wake-up call to humanity’s slumber and a lamenting cry for the voiceless and the weak. A Woman Is a Mirror is a dignified and declarative ode to womanhood, breaking away from the clichés of pity and praise, and instead offering a profound ontological reflection on female identity.</h5>Zaabar’s emotional sensitivity is evident throughout his work: a tender hymn to love, an impassioned outcry against suffering, and a philosophical proclamation of woman’s being. His language is concise yet charged with intensity, stirring in readers a deep resonance with themes of life, hope, and human dignity.</div></h5> <h5>拉娜·德尔卡奇（Lana Derkač）是克罗地亚一享有盛誉、屡获殊荣的诗人和作家，已出版十五部作品，涵盖诗歌、短篇小说、戏剧、散文以及长篇小说。拉娜曾荣获多项重要文学奖项，包括克罗地亚的兹德拉夫科·普察克诗歌奖（Zdravko Pucak Poetry Prize）、精神之橡树奖（Duhovno Hrašće Prize）和酒与诗奖（Vinum et Poeta Prize），并获得黑山的里斯托·拉特科维奇奖（Risto Ratković Prize），该奖授予黑山、塞尔维亚、克罗地亚和波斯尼亚和黑塞哥维那地区最佳诗集。她的诗歌曾被纳入联合国教科文组织驻罗马办事处的《诗意巴比伦》项目以及“雨落杜布罗夫尼克的诗篇”项目（由智利与克罗地亚联合发起）。她的作品已被翻译成23种语言传播。</h5> 为一位难民而作 POEM FOR A REFUGEE 每一座岛屿，都是水面上的一道疤痕 星星，是黑暗中敞开的伤口 我坐着的露台，距离太远 无法向它们投掷一包泰若舒粉—— 抗感染的药 每位难民，都是一座岛屿。里法特*是，莱雅尔*也是 又如何呢，哪怕这座岛屿在移动！ 在水面、草地、柏油路上滑行，只为最终搁浅于 一座山、一支军队，或一道铁丝网前 他可以是一块男形状岩石，也可以是女形岩石 边境警察如同翻抽屉一样 梳着遍地难民岩石 里法特盯着地平线上的天空，像在看大电视 他听见雷声，如同世上最强大声音 他坐着的那片田地，是他的客厅、厨房 甚至是他的沐浴间--因为乌云正在对他撒尿 这次实在太过分了。 清晨，一朵迟缓的云，在古董市集上替一只茶炊加水 它并未察觉，下一朵云将打湿展台上的那枚 曾属于里法特的勋章 也没注意到，一只苍蝇正轻松飞过皮草 而那道边境，阻止了勋章抵达桌子的西端 每一座岛屿，都是平滑水面上的一道疤痕 星辰，是黑暗中的伤口 我的露台太远，天上的手 无法够到那瓶泰若舒 它选择不让自己感染 译者注：里法特（Rifat）是常见的阿拉伯男性名字（رفعت）；莱雅尔（Layal）是常见的阿拉伯女性名字（ليال）。 <h5>POEM FOR A REFUGEE Every island is a scar on water. Stars are open wounds on darkness. The terrace I’m sitting on is too far to throw Tyrosur to any of them - the powder against infections. Each refugee is an island. Rifat is an island as well. Layal too. So what if the island moves! If it glides across water, grass, asphalt only to end up stranded against a mountain, an army or a wire. He is a man-rock, he could just as well been a woman-rock, as the border police combs the meadow with refugee-rocks like they’re going through drawers. Rifat stares at the screen of the horizon as if it’s a TV-set, hearing the thunder like it’s the most powerful sound ever. The field where he is sitting in is his living room, his kitchen, even his shower cabin for the clouds are pissing down on him. They have already taken it too far this time. In the morning a lame cloud is filling a samovar at the antiques fair. Not sensing that the next one will wet the medallion on the stand, that once belonged to Rifat. Or that a fly will easily fly over the fur coat, the border preventing the medallion from reaching the western end of the table. Every island is a scar on the smooth surface. Stars are wounds on darkness. My terrace is too far for the celestial hand to reach the bottle with Tyrosur. Sparing itself from an infection. (Englisht translated by Damir Šodan )</h5> 乐队 春、夏、秋、冬组成了一支爵士乐队 他们偶尔让山或河流走上前台 独唱一段即兴曲 并不要求完美的演出 并允许风突兀退场 冬、秋和夏让春天 独立走出来，在厨房里演奏属于她的乐章 她在那里调和着黎明、温暖与月光 酿成鲜嫩的芽 春愿意把“世界难民日” 让给秋天—在树叶都在流亡之际 但她也试图接管 并创建一个由树叶构成的难民数据库 当夏天与春天对话时，它就是一支萨克斯： 是谁将水流放出源头 迫使它穿越海峡奔逃？ 它开始幻想时，是一支口琴 而当它登上高山，我认出 那是所爱之人的化石 秋敲起鼓点：你应该研究草地的解剖学-- 但前提是，你愿意把一些草原 订购为你家的居所 一注雨，一瓶面霜 是天空征服桦树的方式 是此季节柔和开始的序曲 冬天？是其他声音间的一个停顿 它沉默着，我相信，从前门的屋檐开始 雪就悄悄出征了 <h5>THE BAND Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter comprise a jazz band. They let the mountain or the river sometimes step out to sing a solo section. Yet they don't demand perfect performance. Allowing the wind to retreat abruptly. Winter, Fall and Summer let Spring separate, and play its own part from the kitchen where she mixes Dawn, Warmth and Moonlight into fresh buds. Spring would like to cede the World Refugees Day to Fall when the leaves are in exile too and she also attempts to take over by creating a refugee database made of leaves. When addressing Spring, Summer is a saxophone: Who has exiled water from its spring, forcing it to run away through the strait? When it starts inventing things, it is a harmonica, and when on the mountain, climbing to the top, I can recognize the fossil of my loved one. Fall drums along: You shall study the anatomy of the meadow but only if you'll order some as your home square footage. A packet of rain, a face moisturizer with which sky conquers the birch tree is but a gentle introduction to that season. Winter? A pause between other voices. It keeps silent and I believe that out of the front entrance ceiling the snow starts sallying. (English translated by Boris Gregorić)</h5> 铁丝网THE WIRE 我试图数清铁丝网的各种用途 在奥斯维辛，我见过它被编织成 恶魔般的长篱笆 “带上一杯咖啡吧”，我听见母亲的声音 悬在铁丝网上，连同她的钥匙一起 她知道一切都应该被安排好 散乱开来可不好 我看着父亲割草 他的动作缓慢，时不时抿一口 母亲从商场带回来的咖啡 我羡慕草的自由 自古以来，它就拒绝做铁丝网的帮凶 但家家不同 每家都有铁丝网 在自家围栏里沿着它行走 默默追随，信任它 但有时我觉得 那些打理园子的女人 其实根本看不见菜蔬 她们仿佛在为希望画出铁丝网 让它成为攀援植物的依靠 而非豌豆藤 铁丝网一直垂到我的胸口，细长且银白 我梦见挂在网上的瞪羚繁衍起来 于是，到了夜晚 它们成群跳跃，越过世界文学 散落一室，不对称 白天，我思索上帝对铁丝网的立场 他是否也用它 他的机械手 正握着某个不合调的社区或风景 <h5>THE WIRE I try to count the applications of the wire. In Auschwitz, I saw it set into demonic long fences. A coffee to go, I hear my mother whose voice is hanging from a wire together with her house keys. She knows things should be kept under control and it’s not good when they scatter around. I watched my father mow the grass. His movements were slow and from time to time he sipped the coffee my mother had brought from the shopping mall. I envied the grass on its independence. Since the beginning of time, it refuses to be the wire’s collaborator. But families are different. All of them obtain the wire. To walk along it in their fenced-in yards, follow it unnoticed and trust it. But sometimes I think that women who tend to their gardens actually don’t see the vegetables. It seems they draw the wire for hope it is a climbing plant. And not the pea. The wire goes down all the way to my chest, slim though and silver, and the gazelle hanging from it, I dreamt, is multiplying. So, come nighttime, its whole herd jumps over world literature, asymmetrically scattered across the room. During the day, I wonder about God’s stand on the wire. Does He use it too while in His mechanic hand He holds some community or landscape out of key. (English translated by Tomislav Kuzmanović )</h5> <h5>诗歌赏析：<div>克罗地亚诗人拉娜·德尔卡奇（Lana Derkač）三首诗以不同视角、不同象征层层展开，对现实世界的复杂与人性的细腻描绘，形成了丰富而深刻的诗意画卷。三首诗均采用简练且富有画面感的语言，具有强烈的视觉与感官冲击力。《为一位难民而作》语言质朴而具象，细节生动，感情真挚；《乐队》语言灵动，节奏感强，拟人手法突出，结构上如乐章般变化丰富；《铁丝网》则略显冷峻，语言中融合了生活琐碎与沉重历史，带有一种沉思的肃穆氛围。诗中既有对个体生命尊严的呼唤，也有对社会结构、权力边界的批判，体现了作者对人类共同命运的敏锐感知。三首诗可独立成章，又形成一个关于流亡、时间与人性交织的整体叙事，读完令人深思。（佩英）</div><div>Editorials:</div><div>The three poems by Croatian poet Lana Derkač unfold through varied perspectives and layers of symbolism, offering a rich and profound poetic tableau of the complexities of reality and the subtleties of human nature. Each poem employs concise yet vividly imagistic language, delivering a strong visual and sensory impact. <h5>“POEM FOR A REFUGEE” is marked by its plain, concrete language, vivid details, and heartfelt sincerity. “The Band”is lively and rhythmical, with a pronounced use of personification and a structure that shifts like a musical composition. “THE WIRE” adopts a more austere tone, blending mundane fragments of life with the weight of history, evoking a solemn and contemplative atmosphere.</h5>The poems simultaneously call for the dignity of individual lives and critique the structures of society and the boundaries of power, reflecting the poet’s acute awareness of our shared human fate. While each poem stands alone, together they form a cohesive narrative interwoven with themes of exile, time, and the human condition—leaving the reader deeply moved and thoughtful.(By Christine Chen)</div></h5> <h5>马克·麦克劳德博士（Dr Mark Macleod），澳大利亚儿童文学作家和编辑，现任查尔斯特大学高级讲师。他曾在澳大利亚及全球多所大学教授儿童文学、澳大利亚文学和创意写作。2024年，他作为十五位国际驻地作家之一，受邀赴乌兹别克斯坦驻留；2025年，他出席了在印度尼西亚西苏门答腊帕当举办的国际明古瑙文学节。马克曾任职编辑及总编于多家出版社，曾任塔斯马尼亚作家中心（TasWriters）主席。他因其对儿童文学的卓越贡献以及以其个人品牌“Mark Macleod Books”出版作品而获得多项奖项。</h5> <h5>中国新年，甘托克</h5><h5> 从“龙锅”餐厅望去 我看到一位僧人，穿着血色僧袍 漫步于圣雄甘地街 对着高高举起的手机微笑 仿佛那是一面化妆镜；他身后 五位师兄正蹒跚走过鹅卵石路 被巧妙地框入画面。 一张蓝色天鹅绒沙发 和一对胖扶手椅 被三位男子背在背上 从相反方向缓慢穿过街道 从僧人微笑的左右擦肩而过 接着，一只衣柜 长着两条细瘦的棕色腿，穿着凉鞋 踉跄走来 在一块菜单板旁停下 那菜单板立在一段 水泥楼梯的顶部 衣柜转身 开始缓慢地 倒退下山 朝“饥饿的牦牛”走去 这顿午餐如此从容 仿佛食客们决定 就此搬进来住下 没有舞狮、没有鞭炮 也没有喧闹的铜钹和鼓乐 为新年助兴 而中国其实近在咫尺 只有一扇扇铁卷闸门 在节日中隆隆落下 购物者一边交谈、发讯息、大笑 人数还不及 站在坦克旁的迷彩军人 而在雾中 在山谷与蛋壳色的天际之间的某处 雪顶的康钦章加山 低声咆哮 译者注：甘托克（Gangtok），印度锡金邦（Sikkim）首府，位于喜马拉雅山脉东部。</h5> <h5>Chinese New Year, Gangtok</h5><h5> From the Dragon Wok I see a monk in robes the colour of blood stroll along Mahatma Gandhi Marg, smiling into a phone held high like a make-up mirror and five of his brothers scumbling over the cobblestones but neatly framed behind him. A blue velvet sofa and a pair of fat armchairs lope in the opposite direction strapped to the backs of three men, and pass on either side of the smiling monks. Then a wardrobe with two thin brown legs and sandals lurches towards them, stops by the menu board at the top of a concrete staircase, turns and starts the slow descent backwards down the mountain to the Hungry Yak. A lunch so unhurried that the diners have decided to move in. No lion dance, no firecrackers or brash brass cymbals for the new year here, and China so close; just steel roll-a-doors rumbling shut for the holiday as shoppers talk and text and laugh, outnumbered by men in camouflage standing by tanks, and through the fog, somewhere between the valley and the eggshell sky snowcapped Kanchenjunga growls.</h5> <div>诗歌朗诵</div><div> </div>为何当我听见 诗人诉说他的真相 在跑道尽头振翅欲飞时 泪水便悄然袭来？ 哭吧，我为那些未完成的事 哭泣，为那些 终将化为虚无的计划 在我抵达终点之时 哭吧，也别哭-- 哭泣之外，还有事要做 别奢望北去鲸鱼 和她的幼崽对你心存感激 对它们来说，一切都一样 一个男孩的头 优雅地掠过窗外 快得仿佛由身体之外的 某种力量驱动 他又缓慢地归来-- 然后再次掠过 他渴望有某物 值得他停留 却无法 听见诗句，或看见泪水 诗人望向窗外-- 那是不可能之事 仿佛人两次踏入同一条河流 我既非为他而来 也不是为那孩子而来 而这一切，仅是文字而已 我发短信告诉你我 孤身一人，这感觉是真的-- 但“i”键紧挨着“o” 我的手指似乎注定要打出： “I live you（我活你）”， 而我一直努力地 活成我自己 可自动纠正机制，却以为 我分不清两者的区别 <h5><div>Poetry reading</div><div> </div>Why do I feel the tears come as I hear the poet speak his truth and lift at the end of the runway? Cry, I cry for the things undone, for the plans that will come to nothing when I reach my destination. Cry, don't cry. There is work to do beyond crying. Don't look for thanks from the whale heading north with her calf. It's much the same to them. A boy's head glides past the window with such grace and speed it is powered by some out of body force. And back he comes - slowly, this time - then back again. He longs for something to stop for, but cannot hear the words or see the tears. The poet glances through the window - impossible as entering the same river twice. I am here for neither of them, and these are just words. I text you to say I am alone, and that feels true but the 'i' key is next to the 'o' and my fingers seem bound to say, 'I live you,' when I have been trying to live myself and autocorrect thinks I don't know the difference.</h5> <div>你的回答</div><div> </div>“爱。” 你剥去了 这个词的外衣 它站在那里 局促不安， 寻找遮蔽， 找个地方 安放双手。 我低下头。 我希望 灯能关掉。 “我并不是 这个意思，” 你说。 <h5><div>Your answer</div><div> </div>'Love.' You undress the word and it stands there awkward, looking for cover, for a place to put hands. I glance down. I want the lights out. 'That's not what I have in mind,' you say. Crate Training Don't jump up on me. Don't lick my face. Don't give my sleeve a bite. Don't drape yourself across my legs. I'm sleeping alone tonight. I'm turning my back. I'm crossing my arms. I'm giving myself a hug. I'm laying a blanket over your crate. I know all you want is love. </h5> <h5>诗歌赏析： 澳大利亚诗人马克·麦克劳德博士（Dr Mark Macleod）三首诗题材和风格各异，却共同展现了澳大利亚诗人 Mark Macleod 作品中一以贯之的特质：对“生活与情感真实”的敏锐捕捉，对当下瞬间的诗性把握，以及温柔中带刺、克制中有力的语言功底。《中国新年，甘托克》是典型的“观察诗”，诗人用电影镜头般的语言，将异国小镇在中国新年这一天的“缺席性”节日氛围娓娓道来。《诗歌朗诵》层层剥离出对人生未竟之事的哀伤，对自我存在的疑问，以及人与人之间交流的断裂感。你的回答》是三首诗中最短，却最锋利的一首。诗人通过将“Love（爱）”拟人化，展示了在情感表达时语言的无能为力与人性的尴尬赤裸。它们共同呈现出一个复杂、诚实、不炫技但极具穿透力的诗人：有对世界的深情凝视，也有对内心荒凉的诚实记录。形式上克制，思想上锋利；语言中简洁，内核却深沉。 Editorials: The three poems by Australian poet Dr. Mark Macleod, though varied in subject and style, share a consistent hallmark of his work: a keen sensitivity to the authenticity of life and emotion, a poetic grasp of fleeting moments, and a mastery of language that is both gentle and sharp, restrained yet powerful. “Chinese New Year, Gangtok” is a quintessential “observational poem,” where the poet, with filmic precision, unfolds the atmosphere of an absent celebration in a foreign town on Chinese New Year—quiet yet richly evocative. “Poetry Reading” gradually unpacks the sorrow of unfinished life stories, the uncertainty of selfhood, and the disconnection in human communication. “Your Answer” is the shortest of the three, yet the most piercing. By personifying Love, the poet exposes the awkward vulnerability of human emotion and the futility of language in the face of it. Together, these poems present a complex, honest, and unpretentious poetic voice—one that gazes tenderly at the world while truthfully recording the desolation within. Formally restrained yet intellectually sharp; linguistically minimalist yet emotionally profound.(By Christine Chen)</h5> <h5>(所有作品均获作者授权）</h5>